Cars and Girls
by TheViewFromTheAfternoon
Summary: Most of the time there's only two topics of conversation in here, cars and girls. But the main thing on my mind is simply making it through each day.
1. First and Last

A/N: Well, This works as a stand-alone story, although is set in the same universe as my other fics (would fit immediately after 'These Streets' and before 'Back to the Start' in the timeline, so is post-book).

Fair warning, it's set in a prison with a bunch of guys so there's a fair amount of swearing, along with some inappropriate (but accurate for the period) attitudes on show from Tim and/or other characters at various times...

Tim Shepard and family, along with any other characters from the books belong to SE Hinton, the random others and the events are my own.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading and as always feedback would be much appreciated so please leave a review and let me know what you think :)

* * *

**FIRST AND LAST **

_Day Five Hundred and Sixty._

It's my last day in this shit hole and I'm saying my goodbyes.

I guess I've only got one real friend left here and one other that you might call more of a casual acquaintance since Walt checked out, because I realised after all that happened that it's a mistake getting too close to anyone here.

Tommy doesn't say anything, just nods as he shakes my hand. But Ray, he's always got something on his mind that he don't ever try to keep to himself. "Don't ever let me damn well catch you back in here again, kid," he says, laughing at me.

"Don't worry, I promise you I ain't gonna spend one fucking second longer than I have to in this dump, old man." Grinning back at him I toss my last half pack of smokes in his direction before walking away, my hands in my pockets as I slouch a little, trying not to look too happy that this day has actually arrived. It still doesn't properly seem real.

Finally the forms are filled and the paperwork is finished, I've got my own clothes back and then they let me out the doors, through the gates and pretty soon I'm down the street waiting at a bus stop. It occurs to me as I stand there watching the traffic that it's possible for me to go anywhere, somewhere far away from being Tim Shepard. But much as the idea appeals to me, there's parole conditions to keep and going somewhere new ain't part of 'em, would no doubt be a sure fire way of getting myself sent straight back here if anyone ever found me, and I'm sick of spending all my time looking over my shoulder and worrying about what might go wrong every damned day.

So instead I begin to study the timetables and figure out exactly how long it's likely going to take me to get to Tulsa.

Realising it will take me most of the day to get back there I begin to wonder whether it would have been easier to have called my brother to come get me. Only then I'd have had to listen to all his dumbass stories and chat for two hours straight at least. And after having other people's company forced upon me for so long the fact that I can choose to have a little of my own space, do things my own way and get some peace for the first time since the day I arrived here, is pretty damn appealing. Course I'm looking forward to having a few proper beers instead of that prison homebrew shit, talking up how it ain't been no big deal being in here with the guys and then getting myself some female company soon enough, but right now the silence is real pleasant. For the first time in what feels like forever there's no one talking at me or telling me what to do or where to be.

There's another fifteen minutes left to kill waiting here, watching the world go by, and I'm starting to get a little restless and wish I hadn't given Ray every last one of my smokes.

So I pace around a bit, before settling myself, and as I lean against the side of the bus shelter my parting words to him come back into my mind. Near enough every fucker lucky enough to leave McAlester says there's no damn way they're ever coming back, although most of them do - and most of them sooner rather than later.

But despite the lousy odds, I aim to keep that promise and in order to do that I'm resigned to the fact that I'll have to do whatever it takes, jump through all their hoops and tell the parole officer exactly the things he wants to hear from me, if it means I don't ever have to set one foot back inside Big Mac.

Because after all that's gone down these past eighteen months, after every that's happened, I've got no wish to return.

xxxxxx

_Day One._

"On your feet," the guard barks as he flings open the doors on the back the van—and I do what he says, because I've already seen what happened to some other guy when he took too long doing what he was told getting on here in the first place and I sure as hell got no wish to start my first day in McAlester covered in my own blood and looking like an easy target, like I can't fucking take care of myself.

Until we got here I've been kidding myself that I'm not all that worried, that being sent here's no big deal. But the minute we're in through the gates it's plain this ain't going to be nothing like the reformatory.

I knew it was big but the size of the place still takes me a little by surprise as I'm being led down from the centre building through the halls of the west block to my cell. I've already been given prison issue to wear, been talked at or, more accurately, shouted at, by the guards processing us new arrivals. I'm the youngest out of the new guys brought in today and apparently I'm in cell B47 which seems like it's in the middle of the block and as we get nearer I wonder if that's a good or bad place to be.

The other prisoners are in their cells right now, sitting around, looking restless. I'm kind of glad as at least it means I don't have to speak to anyone yet. Glancing around as we walk quickly through the corridor I wonder whether it'll be best to keep my head down and not draw attention to myself, or whether I need to find myself a place to belong—'cause I've never been all that good at being part of the crowd, fitting in never has been something I found easy to do. Whatever I decide though, somehow it don't seem likely that the advice I used to give Curly about going to the reformatory—get in a fight and show them you're tougher from the start—is likely to work in here. I might just about be alright one on one in a fight, be able to handle myself, but some of these guys look like they got nothing to do all day but work out and even if I could take any of them one on one then I'm pretty sure they've all got friends that ain't going to be happy.

As I'm shoved into my cell I notice there's already some old guy in there, seems around forty. He's sat on the bottom bunk, grinning at me as the door slams shut behind me.

"First time in here, kid?"

"Yep."

I study him a little more closely; he's a little shorter than me but more heavy set, tough looking. Beneath his rolled up sleeves there's a whole load of fading military tattoos all over his arms and taking in the hard look in his eye along with the receding hairline, I wonder if he's maybe a little older than I first thought.

"Well, use your head and you'll get through it." He laughs. "I'm Ray, and if you listen to me you'll do fine. Top bunk is yours; I'm getting too old for shit like climbing up there these days."

Just my damn luck, ending up with someone who thinks they're the prison wise guy, who doesn't get when to shut the fuck up. But I don't say anything, just nod at him, because I don't want to piss him off today. And actually he seems at home, comfortable in here, and I suppose he might have been here a while, so he must have something useful to say. At any rate he's got to know more than me and as I'll need all the allies I can get in this place there's no sense in making an enemy of the first guy I meet in here, especially seeing as we'll be stuck in this room together for a good portion of every day for the foreseeable fucking future.

"Sit yourself down, boy." He points to the hard narrow bench along the opposite wall. "So what's your name?"

"Shepard, Tim Shepard," I mutter as he looks me up and down, focusing on the scars on my face. I can recognise that expression anywhere, that one when people look at me and speculate on how I got 'em.

"A bit of a fighter then, Shep?"

"It's been known," I reply trying to sound friendly even though I'm not entirely sure I like him calling me that, but at least he hasn't gone for Timothy or fucking Timmy. I mean Christ only knows why my mother picked such lousy names for me and my brother.

He laughs, "Well, at least with all them scars you ain't too pretty. Bad enough in here if you're young, but if you look good too...like Bobby over there..." He nods over at some skinny, nervous kid sat in the opposite cell, and it seems he takes my frown for me not getting what's going on as he continues, "Hell, Shep, you gotta be careful, watch out for the Queens in here, they like their bitches young...unless maybe you like that kind of thing, boy?"

"Fuck off, I ain't no queer," I snap. I mean you hear shit about what goes down in here, but I don't exactly know how much of it is true and how much is made up and I've got no wish to find out.

"Nah, didn't suppose you really were, only you can never tell these days. Some the guys been here a long time and screwing anything is better than having nobody to some of them. And then on the other hand some of 'em have always been into kicks like that."

I'm starting to wonder if he's one of 'em, if I need to be watching my back even in here but he's grinning at me again, laughing, as he carries on talking, like he's reading my mind.

"Me, I like my girls over there, learnt to get by with entertaining myself a long, long, time ago." He nods at some faded pin-up pictures taped up by his bunk. "Now, that little redhead on the end's my current favourite..."

Glancing across at his pictures, I reckon most of them have been cut from skin mags and there's one in particular that catches my eye, reminds me a little bit of someone I used to know, someone I've been doing my best not to think about ever since getting arrested, and so I drag my eyes off her and force myself to focus all my attention on the busty brunette in the next pic along. "Yeah? She's pretty cute too," I shoot back at him, with all the bravado I can muster.

"Sure is. Tell you what, any time you're feeling lonely, you tell me and you can have her on your wall." He reaches for his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and laughing at me a little as I feel the colour rising up my face, although I don't get why exactly; it ain't like I'm some innocent who's never been with a girl or talked dirty with the guys about broads, so maybe it's just a bit weird when someone old enough to be my father is thinking the same thing about some good looking young chick as I am.

Ray carries on talking at me on and off through the rest of the afternoon, telling me shit that I hope will be some use for me getting settled in this dump when a bell rings. "Come on, kid, chow time, I'll show you where to go."

Mess hall is a goddamned fucking nightmare. A noisy, chaotic nightmare. Following Ray, I keep my head down and grab a tray and I'm real glad when we get out of there unscathed, that we were far enough away from all the fights that break out that we don't attract the attention of either other inmates or the guards.

Only I really shouldn't have been so dumb as to think things were going to be that easy, when I feel the hand on my shoulder, stopping me from heading back towards my cell. Ray's stopped a while back to chat to some other guy so I'm on my own 'cause I don't want to hang around following him about like some tag-along kid, but there again having to watch my own back isn't exactly nothing new to me.

"What's your name, kid?"

It sure is going to take some getting used to, being the youngest least significant, guy in the place, after being used to being top dog on the outside, that's for sure. The guy is big, strong looking, in his twenties if I had to take a guess at it, so I go along with it for now.

"Shepard. You?"

"Wilson. Where you out of then, Shepard?"

"Tulsa."

"Yeah? Might have guessed." He glances at the other guys with him before continuing, smirking and sneering at me as he speaks, "Heard all you Tulsa boys were fucking fags."

I realise as soon as the words come out my mouth I haven't got the patience for shit like this. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I guess you heard wrong, asshole."

"Jesus, boy, you got no manners?" he snarls.

But honestly right this second I don't give a shit if I have pissed him off, so instead I simply shrug, which apparently hacks him off even more because the next minute he's punching me—and after witnessing how little the guards did about the trouble in the mess hall I'm well aware that that there ain't no one but me to rely on to help me out of this situation.

I'm fighting back and doing alright, holding my own against him, until his friends decide to join in too and really, there's not all that much you can do when two guys have got you pinned back against the wall while the third one pounds you senseless.

"That all you got?" Tasting the blood in my mouth, I still can't give in, find myself mouthing off to him, remind myself a little of Dally Winston and all his smart ass comments, even as this Wilson guy carries on laying in to me. Too late for it to make much difference, the guards eventually stroll over and break things up and I finally slope away, make it back to the cell without any more bother.

"Jesus, Shep, I wondered where you were, what the fuck happened to you? You do understand that it's gonna be a hell of a drag in here if you can't even get through the first day without getting yourself caught up in shit. You need to keep a low profile, kid, 'cause getting beat up gets real old real quick."

Sinking back down on the bench, I shrug at him, not ready to admit that I'm bothered to someone I only met today.

"Hell, I'll be fine, had plenty worse than that."

Only inside I'm not exactly feeling sure I will be fine.

Three fucking years I'll be here if I don't get parole and right now it feels like I've got no chance of making it, being as I barely managed to make it through the first day.


	2. Work and Play

A/N: Thank you for reading. For anyone who's interested in the background stuff the jobs aren't made up, they were actual roles carried out by inmates at McAlester roughly around this time period :)

* * *

**WORK AND PLAY**

_Day Four._

It's Monday morning, and the weekend is finally over.

I only had one more fight this weekend, or more accurately, one more beating. My face and body are bruised, my ribs are still sore, but all told it seems I probably got off pretty lightly after what else I've seen go down this weekend.

My latest trouble was with a different bunch of guys from the first night so it appears I ain't magically got no more popular. Being here feels a little like being in some fucked up version of high school what with all the groups, the fitting in. Only it's clearly a hell of a lot more dangerous for me than that ever was, 'cause I can't remember there ever being a time back then that I was right down the bottom of the heap—like I am now.

Yesterday afternoon I watched a guy get stabbed when we were out in the yard, just because of some argument over a pack of smokes, resulting in us all getting ordered back in the cells for the rest the day.

Which was actually a relief.

There ain't exactly a lot to fill your time with when you're locked in, aside from talking, playing cards or maybe reading if that's your thing. Or thinking. But at least it's a bit of a break from the tedious task of attempting to keep myself out of trouble while at the same time trying to get a handle on who everyone is and how things work round here.

They told me when I arrived the other day that I'll be working in the print shop, on account of the fact I got some sort of education and already have my high school diploma. It sounds like it ought to be all right, not as crap as some of the places I found out they could have sent me anyways. I mean who wants to work in a fucking mattress factory or making brooms?

So that's where I head this morning.

The print shop is in a building across the yard, there's a couple long benches, along with various pieces of equipment and the man running the place tells me that the guy to my left is going to show me what to do.

"Hey there I'm Walt, good to meet you, man."

He looks to be a few years older than me and grins at me like we just met socially in a fucking bar or something, before he carries on talking at me.

"We've got to bind these manuals; it's easy shit, you'll soon get the hang of it only it's pretty damn boring when you're doing hundreds of the things."

And from then on he barely shuts up. Ray and his chat got nothing on this guy. I never known anyone talk this damn much, not even Angela. For the first half hour it winds me up having to listen to him as he talks, mostly about his wife, before moving on tp tell me that he's been here two months and then talking about his home—he's out of Enid apparently, wants to know if I've ever been there, and that makes me laugh, 'cause why in hell would anyone want to go all the way out there when they live in Tulsa?

But at some point his chatter starts to bother me less and less so that by the end of the day, along with knowing practically his whole life history, I reckon we might get along all right after all.

xxxxxx

_Day Seven._

It's finally the end of our shift and me and Walt are heading down towards the yard, back to the cell block, when out of nowhere some heavy set guy coming the other way slams in to him.

"Hey watch it!"

Pausing, I keep my eye on him, in case there's gonna be any trouble, but the big guy just grins at him.

"Well if it ain't Walt Jeffries. We ain't seen you around lately. Mitch sends his regards, kid."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, just wanted to remind you, if you need anything, you just got to say the word."

"What if I ain't interested no more?"

"No problem, but just you remember, we'll be here anytime you change your mind...and you know you will."

He walks off as I turn to Walt.

"So what the fuck's all that about?"

He sighs, and for the first time since I met him he's actually quiet for more than a couple of seconds.

"Asked you a question, Walt."

"Yeah, I know. You heard of Mitch Brannigan?"

"Yeah." He's one of the big noises in here, runs one of the gangs in our block.

"Well that's one of his boys. When I first got in here I didn't have my head straight, made the mistake of going to them for some shit. Biggest, dumbest mistake I ever made."

xxxxxx

_Day Fifteen_.

Wednesday evening and there's less than an hour left 'til they lock the doors. I'm sitting up on my bunk smoking, half listening as Ray chats a little to Bobby while they play cards, when another voice cuts through their conversation.

"Evening, so this is where you spend your time then." Walt doesn't wait for any response, just strolls on in, looks around then spots Ray's girls. "Hey, nice pics."

I don't move; just ask him the question while wondering what he wants, why he's here in my space, uninvited.

"What you doing down here?"

"There's some trouble going on up on the landing, didn't exactly want to have to walk through the middle of it and risk getting involved, so thought I'd take a look around. So what's going on then, Tim?"

"Nothin' much."

But he's already on the move, ignoring my offhand tone as he introduces himself to Ray and Bobby.

"Evening, name's Walt, I work out the print shop with this cheery fucker." He grins, laughing to himself before pitching in with their conversation and winning them over with some dumb jokes, while I just remain leaning back against the wall, my legs hanging over the side of the narrow bunk.

Then out the blue Walt pipes up with asking something I ain't heard no one ask anybody outright since I got here, probably got to be about the only thing about himself he's not told me yet, either.

"So what you guys all in here for then? Shepard?"

I sit up a little and frown, staring across at the wall, not really wanting to have this conversation because the reason I'm here ain't exactly tough. I wonder whether it would be better to make it sound like I done more than I did, or whether to trust them with the truth. Maybe it's about time to try trusting someone a little.

"Got set up for an armed robbery by some guys back home that I had some differences with, clerk got shot but should make it, was still in the hospital when I got sent down. Out of all the shit I've ever done I end up getting sent down for the one job I didn't do. Got distracted by some other issues I guess. How about you?"

"Stabbed a guy in a bar fight. Dabbled a bit back then and I was so high that I just watched him bleed out in the car park. Apparently I was just standing there laughing when the ambulance arrived and the cops arrested me."

Ray chuckles to himself. "Jesus, thought one of you might have least done something a little more impressive. What a fucking joke, suppose you two make a good match up there, probably why they stuck you two girls together. The junkie who didn't know what he was doing and the pussy that got set up."

Hopping quickly down off the bunk at the same time as he gets to his feet, I'm in his face, angry.

"Fuck you, old man."

I'm mostly mad with myself though 'cause it feels like I've made a mistake by admitting to being fitted up by the River Kings—and I ain't used to making so many mistakes as I seem to have done lately. Guess I should have trusted my judgement and talked it up some rather than admit to being caught up in some feud with another gang of kids, 'cause that sort of crap won't impress no one in here.

Ray's holding his hand up against my chest as he just smiles, looking amused at my anger.

"Easy, Shep. I don't give a damn why you're in here only you might not want to let on to everyone out there what you just told us, just tell 'em you done it if anyone bothers to ask. But really, kid, just calm the fuck down 'cause you don't exactly need to get in any more fights, do you? Especially not with me."

And he's right, it ain't every day now, and I'm getting better at figuring out how to spot the signs and avoid it, but no matter what you do it seems you can't go for long without someone wanting to get at you in here and I reckon I must have been involved in five, maybe six, fights as well as the numerous scuffles and altercations since arriving, even though it's only just been a couple of weeks - and like Ray said that first day, it does get real old real quick.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. So you gonna tell me why you're in here?" I ask as I relax a little and lean against the side the bunks while Ray sits back down.

"Been here nearly twenty years now and I don't expect I'll ever be getting out. War was over, got my discharge out the army and headed home, only I got there a day earlier than expected and thought I'd surprise the good lady rather than calling first. Only it was me that got the surprise when I walked in and found her screwing the preacher right there on the damn couch. Lost it there and then. I was so fucking angry that I shot them both. Doubt I would have got so long if it had just been her, but the town didn't like what I done to their beloved minister. Lawyers made out in court that there hadn't been no funny business going on, that he was there offering her spiritual guidance or some such bullshit and I was just some no good loser. Mind you, bet you'd never guess in a million years what Bobby done."

All eyes are on Bobby who's been pretty quiet up until now. I know he's older than me, even though he don't look it, but it's hard to imagine that the guy who has to spend most of his time trying to avoid unwanted advances that he's got no chance of fighting off could have done anything very much. He just shrugs, dropping the playing cards down on the bench next to him like whatever it is ain't no big deal, like he's talking about the weather or something.

"Had a bit of a fall out with my folks. Kind of got sick of getting a beating every day and being treated like shit. So I took my time and planned it out, thought of the best way I could hurt them and make them suffer as much as I had, and one day I took a tank of gasoline then burnt the place down while they were sleeping. Turned eighteen whilst I was on trial then I got sent up here, I'm here for the duration, like Ray. Been here five years so far, but even being in here and all the shit that comes with it ain't as bad as living with them was. Least it ain't every day in here."

Christ.

After listening to the three of them, I'm left feeling even more out of my depth.

'Cause even though I know it can't be true, right at this moment it feels like I'm about the only guy in the entire fucking building who ain't actually killed anyone, yet.


	3. Cars and Girls

**CARS AND GIRLS**

_Day Forty-Four._

Finally feels like I'm starting to get the measure of how things work, getting to feel a bit more in control, like myself again. That's not to say I'm any higher up the food chain or that I don't ever get no trouble, but I'm better at spotting the signs and avoiding as much shit as I possibly can—or handling it a little better when I can't.

Turns out Walt ain't a bad guy to know and we been knocking around together more often than not lately. But there's visiting today. He's been going on about it all week, been a damn nightmare. It's the first Saturday of the month which means his broad will heading up here and he's desperate to see her, tells me they got some agreement that she'll travel up here the first weekend of every month.

So Walt's back up by his cell, waiting, and Bobby...well I don't exactly want to think too much about where Bobby might be right now, but he ain't around either, which means that there's just me and Ray here this afternoon. I'm half reading Angela's last letter again while he's started rearranging his girls, creating a space.

"Got a new one today." He gestures towards the picture he's just tacked to the wall.

"Yeah? How much she cost you?"

"Half a pack of smokes. Looks good, don't she?"

"Not bad," I agree, glancing across. It's some actress chick, and he's right, she does look pretty good in the photo, sitting on a beach all tanned with long blonde hair, legs going on forever.

Most of the time there's two main topics of conversation in this place. Three if you include sports, but I've never been one for following stats and scores and talking over the details endlessly. I don't mind watching sometimes, like the action as much as the next guy, but the chat is so damn dull. Ray laughs at me when I tell him that.

"Just wait, Shep, few more months and before you know it all they'll be talking about again is getting ready for the damn rodeo twenty-four seven. You interested in all that shit?"

"Fuck no, ain't never been a fan. I'd much rather you give me a bar, a beer and a girl any day of the week."

The only thing about rodeos that ever interested me was the gambling and drinking. Not like Dallas, if it was him in here he'd be fighting tooth and nail, doing whatever it might take to get himself involved and on one of the teams. Except then I remember he's not around to do any of it any more and I try not to think too much about how my life used to be.

So our conversation's back round to cars and girls again, and we're passing the time by bullshitting once more about different cars we've owned, driven, or boosted, cars we'd like to own. Girls we've had, been with, want to be with, girls outta the movies or off of the television that we seen in the papers. Course Ray's been here so long that he's a little out of date on what he's actually done, but he can still talk it up, sell you a good story, especially if some of the tales he tells me from his army days are true.

Outside the guards start yelling, rattling out the names of people who got visitors, when it hits me —my name is on the list.

I haven't had any visitors so far and didn't expect to get none either. I've been here over a month now and the only contact I've had with home is a couple letters from Angela. Was my birthday yesterday, turned nineteen, but Ma couldn't even stretch to putting pen to paper and write me, so I know there ain't no way in hell she's got off her ass and come all out here in person.

But on the other hand I haven't got no friends left that'd bother to drive out here either, not since I had that falling out with Nick and Dallas done what he did anyways. So maybe Curly got out the reformatory early, although I don't know that he's old enough to be let in here on his own unless he lies about his age. Suppose it's got to be him though, 'cause I'm damn sure there ain't no one else who's going to waste their time on me.

xxxxxx

As I'm entering the room I spot Walt ahead of me, watch him for a couple seconds as he's waving and heading towards the little dark haired chick I recognise from the photo he keeps in his pocket and shows me at least once every day. She's having their first kid sometime soon. Real soon from the size of her, and she's waving back at him with a huge smile on her face.

Glancing impatiently around looking for Curly, I'm stunned to see a different familiar figure across the room.

I'm not seeing things though; it's definitely her, standing there behind another of the tables a couple rows back from Walt's old lady, smiling at me.

I stare at her some more, not quite believing she's here, wondering _why_ she's here because things didn't exactly end well.

Somehow, I make it across the room and take the seat opposite her, frowning, 'cause I don't know exactly how I'm feeling about her being here. My mind goes back and forth from how good it feels seeing her again, to resentment over how things went with us; then back round again to how much I'd like to be somewhere alone with her far away from here, before flipping back to remembering how bad I've screwed up my life.

"What're you doing here, Leigh? This ain't no place for you."

I know my voice is harsh but my confusion, all my frustrations, get the better of me. And when she finally answers it's obvious from her tone that she's upset but trying to pretend like she's not bothered.

I'm not really listening to what she's actually saying to me though. We're close enough together that I can smell the familiar scent of her perfume and my mind is wandering, thinking about some of the good times we had together, all those nights we spent at my place, how I somehow always found myself wanting more from her, before wondering what she's wearing under that dress. That dress that she probably thinks is real sensible but actually, if I lean forward a little, I'm tall enough to see right down the front and get a glimpse of white lace underneath, and the thoughts that follow from there mess with my head a little more.

The tension is getting fucking unbearable. I don't think I've ever wanted to touch someone as much as I want to touch her right now. And then her leg brushes against mine as she shifts in the chair and it's like getting an electric shock or something. I want to be with her so fucking badly right now—and I can't help but wonder if she's thinking the same about me.

Catching her eye it's obvious she's waiting for me to say something. Except I've been so caught up in imagining all the things I want to do with her that I ain't registered a word of what she's just said. Instead I end up staring at her again before she starts up saying something else.

"I'm sorry for coming here, Tim...I...I just missed you and I guess I hoped you might want to see me too...but I suppose I was wrong about that. I don't know, it was a stupid idea really but I thought it might be nice for you to have someone come wish you happy birthday in person."

"Hell, it's alright, it's just a shock to see you is all."

"Oh. Okay. So are you sure you're not mad with me for coming here?"

She seems so desperate for me to say something decent to her, that I try to make myself sound a little more pleased to see her. Because it is good to see her, to know she still cares something for me.

"No, not really. But it ain't exactly cool you coming here is it? And I don't especially want you to see me like this."

What is making me mad is seeing how some of the other fucking losers in the room are looking her over, like they've never seen a good-looking girl before. Probably thinking about screwing her while they sit there pretending to listen to their overweight buddies or sour faced wives and mothers. Glancing round the room I glare at a couple of them that I catch gawping at her, before getting a glimpse of Walt.

I reckon Walt's having a much better time than me. Hell, if you put a couple cokes on the table—and ignore the fact he's got handcuffs on—the pair of them could be out on a date someplace, sitting there holding hands and smiling at each other, chatting and laughing.

Not like us.

We talk a little more but the conversation remains awkward and uncomfortable. It's much harder work than it ought to be, and I know that's mostly down to me. Much as I want her, I can't help coming back to that last time we met on the outside. Because thinking about that always leaves me wondering if I would still be in here if Leigh hadn't had to be so fucking stubborn about it all and had just changed her plans and stayed with me that night. She could have given me a reason to have stayed away from the River Kings.

There's only a couple of minutes of visiting time left now.

Even though deep down I know she's not really to blame, I'm damn sure that I can't go through this again. I need to keep my head straight and seeing her here is dredging up everything I've been trying not to think about, makes me feel weaker by reminding me how much I've lost—not only her, but all the other things too. Curly, Angela, home, the gang, and then other stuff like the ability to go for a beer or a drive, or stay out all night if I choose to. All the things that don't seem important until you can't do them anymore.

So I tell her what's got to be the biggest load of bullshit that's ever come out my mouth, and it's like listening to someone else talking, not myself. I'm telling her that I don't want to see her no more, never really wanted her back and never ever gave a damn about her the whole time we were together.

"I don't believe you, Tim," she protests, "yoy were the one who came back to me, you said—"

"Yeah well, I say a lot of things, don't mean any of it's true though does it? So don't waste your time coming here again, understand?"

Noticing how hurt she looks as she turns to leave makes me feel a complete bastard. For a couple of seconds I'm on the verge of stopping her and admitting that it's all lies. Only it's too late to do anything to set it right now 'cause all the visitors are trailing out of the room while the guards make ready to take us back to the cells. And yet despite everything I've said and done, there's a part of me that hopes she doesn't listen, that she somehow realises I was lying and that she comes back next week. Or next month, or maybe the month after that, or even that she writes me sometime.

xxxxxx

Walt comes bounding up behind me in the corridor back to the cell block, slinging an arm across my shoulders and grinning like an idiot.

"Hey, what's your hurry?"

"Nothing. Good visit?"

"Yeah, my Marie's a real sweetheart ain't she? But Jesus, Timmy, you're a dark horse, not letting on to me that you got a girl of your own."

Irritated, I shrug his arm off of me. "She ain't my girl, and don't ever fucking call me that again."

"Come on man, you're fucking kidding me? The way she was looking at you?"

"What the hell do you care? Reckon you should have been paying more attention to your own fucking visitor than to mine."

He continues to match my pace as I stride off down the corridor, asking me questions that I've got no intention of answering. All that's on my mind right now is getting away from other people, crashing on my bunk, and forgetting all about today.

Even though it still don't feel like it right now, shutting her out was the best thing I could have done. I can't afford to lose focus, not again, have just got to get through this. And putting my trust in others or letting myself care too much about anyone else isn't going to help me do that, would simply be asking for trouble.

Turns out I never was too good at listening to my own advice.


	4. Friends and Enemies

**FRIENDS AND ENEMIES**

_Day Sixty-One._

Walt's back on our floor looking like he's won the lottery or something, even more buzzed than usual.

"Come on, Shepard, have a drink with me, maybe a little something extra to celebrate?" He's grinning, clutching a bottle of some prison home-brew shit, and God knows what else stuffed in his back pocket.

"Why? What's going on?"

"Just had a message, found out I've got me a daughter, gonna call her Anne-Marie, born early this morning. I thought that was worth us having some of the good stuff."

He passes me the bottle, and even though whatever it is tastes fucking terrible and burns into the back of my throat like acid, I drink it with him anyway as he talks and talks about his family, how he's gonna keep out of trouble and what his life is going to be like when he eventually gets out of here. There's guys in here that make this booze, although I don't really want to know what the hell goes in it to make it taste so bad. Still does the trick though and pretty soon I'm starting to feel a little wasted, it would definitely get you drunk if you could stomach that much of it—although I don't want to think about what kind of hangover you'd end up with if you did have that much.

Walt's rummaging in his pockets while I take take a last shot of it, starts rolling a joint.

"Want some of this too?"

"Thought you said you weren't into that shit no more either?"

"Yeah, well, no need to be such a fucking killjoy, Tim, ain't like I'm gonna start doing it every day again or nothing is it? Ain't exactly what I was into before anyways, only I need a little something today, need a boost, enjoy myself some." He stands up, heads towards the door. "If you're gonna be all uptight about it, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Damn it, Jeffries, I thought you were supposed to be in a good mood? You know, you whine more than my kid sister? Why don't you sit back down and quit acting like a fucking girl."

xxxxxx

_Day Two Hundred and Eighty-Four._

Can't believe I been here this long already. The days are pretty much all the same after a while, all blend into one. A lot of the time it's pretty boring, mostly working, or hanging around avoiding trouble. Even though I got people who'll help me out some and watch my back in a fight now, everytime anything kicks off I find myself wishing it was just another of those dull days where I'm just hanging around and killing time with my friends—mostly with Walt, sometimes with Ray or Bobby. Strikes me as funny sometimes that there's more people in here I'd class as actual friends, as people that I would trust, than I've probably got left on the outside.

Recently things are starting to look up a little more for me. I've done the paperwork, had most the meetings and now I'm waiting to see whether I'll get a date for parole, be able to get out of here once the year is up. Providing I can keep out of trouble—or don't get caught anyway.

On the other hand Walt's been bitching about his problems all fucking morning. For the first time since he's been here his wife didn't show up this month, and he's been imagining every possible reason as to why. Had to listen to him all day yesterday, and he's still going on about it even now. Tried telling him there's probably a good reason why she ain't made it, that maybe she's sick or she couldn't get a babysitter or something, but he's not interested, seems he's determined to think the worst even though he claims everything's good with them.

xxxxxx

_Day Three Hundred and Seventeen._

Turns out that Walt ain't the only one with issues. Bobby's been getting more hassle lately too. Despite the deals he's got going on, his other 'friends' don't seem to have the influence to protect him as much as he thought no more 'cause one the other gangs has taken a dislike to him. As usual in here it wasn't nothing major that caused it, some stupid misunderstanding when he walked into someone in the yard a few days ago. But it's enough to get his name on the blacklist for Wilson, that jerk I met on my first day and who we all get bother from on and off 'cause we ain't been interested in being part of his crowd.

It's just me and Bobby here right now, Walt's upstairs waiting in his cell in the hope Marie shows and his name gets called for visiting hours today and Ray's off with some of his cronies. It's raining so most everyone's inside and we're just sat in the common area between our cells half-heartedly playing cards when I spot them approaching, nod slightly in their general direction.

"They still giving you grief?"

"Yeah." Bobby slouches a little in his chair, trying to look like he isn't bothered. "Get out of here, Tim, there ain't no point you getting caught up in this as well."

"Ain't gonna happen, Bobby."

"Just fucking go, you idiot," he hisses, but I don't move. Never was much good at walking away from a fight or being told what to do, and within a few seconds it's too late anyway because the four guys are here standing around the end of the table. There's a bit of chat but I don't really listen 'cause everyone knows how this is gonna end up, so they might as well just get on with it.

And then it's on.

Everything's pretty much a blur but after a couple of minutes I manage to get one of them pinned to the floor while the other three are kicking Bobby, and I wonder why they ain't helping their buddy out as I slug the guy again. Then I'm all too aware of the footsteps and voices behind me, realise it must be the guards, just before the blow that catches me across the back of my head knocks me out.

Waking up with a start, I don't know where I am, and then it hits me how quiet it is in here as I notice the door is locked, that I'm on my own.

Looks like I'm in Solitary.


	5. Cause and Effect

**CAUSE AND EFFECT**

_Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Six._

It turns out that I end up spending a little longer than the week I was expecting stuck in solitary, 'cause while they're more than happy to throw me in there on a Saturday it appears they got no intention of bothering with letting anyone back out again on a weekend. Which means it's late on Monday afternoon before I finally get back out to the cell block.

Ray glances up as I enter the room, a grim smile on his face. "Well look who it is, welcome back, Shep. You doing alright kid?"

"I'm good, hell after a week on my own I'm almost pleased to see you again."

"That ain't what I mean."

"Yeah, I know."

Because it's not like I've had anything else to do but think about the consequences of getting caught in that fight for the whole time I was locked up in there.

I'm not going to go home next month, not going to get to see Angela and Curly, won't be able to go for a beer or find me a girl and get laid, won't be getting the chance to get on with my life any time soon. Instead, I'm stuck here for another half of a year minimum, simply for being caught up in someone else's fight.

I've spent hour after hour pacing around in that cramped dark room, or sitting on the hard floor and wondering whether it was worth it just for helping someone out, sticking up for my buddy. Cursed and swore and called myself a fucking idiot, blamed Bobby, then Wilson and his guys, before coming back round to blaming Myers for setting me up and getting me sent here, even planned out a million and one different ways to get even with him once I'm out of McAlester.

Except now I won't be getting out, not yet anyways, and that thought sets me off feeling mad with myself all over again.

Until finally I realised that there wasn't no point beating myself up over it 'cause there ain't a thing I can do to change it now. Despite my reputation back home as a hard fucker who don't care about no one but myself, I've always been prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect the few people I actually give a damn about regardless of the consequences. So the same goes in here. And I'm pretty certain I'd do the same again, 'cause at the end of the day I know these guys would do the same for me too.

"So, are you really okay about the fact you've screwed things up for yourself? They tell you whether you can get another opportunity?"

I shrug. "Yeah, seen them just now, told me I've got to stay another six months - will get another chance to get out at eighteen months."

"Well look on the bright side, kid, least you're out of solitary before the rodeo," Ray says laughing a little.

And that thought makes me smile some as I reply, "Hell I almost forgot about that, reckon I should have asked if they'd let me stay in there for the month, avoid all that shit."

As I'm speaking, Bobby crosses the hall to join us, shakes my hand.

"Hey, Tim, good to see you back, guess I owe you one." He still looks a mess, is limping a little and clutches his side as he moves.

"Yeah, suppose you do."

"Still shouldn't have done it though, you big dumb idiot, could have been out of here next month."

Jesus, like I need reminding, but instead I just shrug a little, make out like I'm not really that bothered.

"Maybe. Was always a good chance I would have just fucked it up some other way all by myself anyways, ain't exactly no big deal. Walt been around?" I ask, in an attempt to change the subject, not wanting to dwell any more than I have to on what it's cost me.

"Some, but we ain't seen so much of him this week."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, apparently he's decided he needs a new crowd to knock around with."

xxxxxx

_Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Seven._

Now I'm out of solitary it's back to the same old routine. Thought I was gonna be the one who was late this morning, and I barely make it through the doors of the print shop on time. But Walt's not anywhere to be seen yet either, and when he finally arrives he looks a state, his face is red, the knuckles on his right hand bruised and scabbing over.

At the beginning I thought it was me that wasn't going to cope, wouldn't be able to handle being in this place. But while it ain't exactly an enjoyable experience for me, it looks like Walt's doing an even worse job these days. Can't exactly blame him, what with the news he's had this week. The guys tell me that while I was busy getting myself locked up and trashing my plans, Walt's been back to trying to ruin things for himself too. Seems his old lady didn't show again that Saturday, then he got no reply on the phone from her, so he's been switching between driving himself crazy wondering what's going on, or else actively looking for trouble, trying to take his mind off it all I guess.

"You been in another scrap?"

He just shakes his head. "Punched a wall last night."

"Why? What the hell?"

"Finally got this yesterday, at least now I know why she didn't show again." He tosses a screwed up piece of paper across the bench towards me.

"What is it?"

"Just read it."

Picking it up, I smooth out the creases and start to read. Turns out it's a letter from Marie. It don't say much, it's not much more than a note as it's barely half a page long. Says she's decided she's not prepared to wait all the years for him to get out of here after all; that she's met someone else and is looking to get a divorce.

"Jesus, Walt..."

I don't exactly know what to say to him, ain't like I'm going to have anything useful to say, or be able to do nothing to fix it. He always made it sound like things were sorted with them, that when he got out they'd be some perfect family and all live happily ever after. But then maybe he didn't realise there was anything this wrong before either, guess no one ever thinks it'll happen to them.

"Hell, she's been messing me about for a couple months now, missing visits or barely staying. She couldn't even fucking bother to come down here and tell me in person. Now I ain't ever gonna know my kid."

"You can go see her though, when you get out?"

"Yeah right, like that's going to happen. Marie's not going to let me near her, won't want to have no loser ex-con, no murderer, in the house—especially if she's got some new husband. Reckon she'll just want to forget that I ever existed."

For the rest of the day he barely speaks, won't let anything lessen his black mood. At the end the shift he don't head back with me like he used to do. Instead he turns the other way without a word and heads across the yard, joining up with the group that I recognise as Mitch Brannigan's people, talking and laughing, joking around with them like there's nothing at all in the world that's bothering him. I don't follow though, just cut back across the other side and settle down with Ray who's talking with Bobby and a couple other guys.

"What's up with the boy?"

"He had some more bad news, fuck knows why he's wasting his time with them though. That who he's started hanging around with nowadays?"

"Yeah, most the time you were locked up."

"Fucking idiot. He don't need to get mixed up in all that crap again, on top of all that's going on with his old lady."

Ray glances across, all of us recognising the scene unfolding across the yard for what it is.

"Most likely he ain't thinking straight, seems like he's looking for a way to forget his troubles for now. Hopefully he'll come good when he's over the shock some, but I guess it's true what they say - old habits die hard sometimes."


	6. Highs and Lows

**HIGHS AND LOWS**

_Day Four Hundred and Thirty-Five._

It's another dull day in the print shop. Walt's not been back to being his usual self lately, and I figured it was mostly down to that news he had about Marie leaving. Least that's one problem I won't have, I already know there ain't no one bothering to wait for me back home.

Although now it's obvious that he's got other problems going on too.

It's less than thirty minutes into the day but from the corner of my eye I can see he's stopped working already. That's not really the issue though, guards won't do nothing much to him so long as he don't give them no bother. At first I think maybe he's feeling sick, the way he's hunching forward, until he shifts a little in his seat and I can see what he's actually doing, why he's leaning over the table with his back towards the nearest guard, because he's rolling up his sleeve, got the gear clutched ready in his hand.

What with all the time he's spent with Brannigan's crowd it's no great surprise he's gone back to using again real regular these days. Only he don't usually do it when he's around us, so I'd figured he'd just been smoking some to take the edge off things. Not that he'd gone back to shooting up, to the heavy stuff he once told me he used to do on the outside and was what landed him in here in the first place.

"What the fuck, Jeffries?"

"None of your business, Shepard."

"The hell it is, you getting it from Brannigan's crew?"

I already know it must be the case, the amount of time he's been spending with them, but want him to admit it to me. He don't speak though so I just plough on, knowing he's going to be out of it soon enough anyways, needing to say my piece before he's too far gone to listen, not that I'm expecting him to take any notice of me.

"How you paying for that shit and how much do you owe them now? Who d'you think is gonna be the one who ends up watching your back when they come after you for your debt you fucking idiot?"

"Yeah, well no one fucking asked you to. Why don't you just fuck off and let me get on with it? You'll be out of here soon enough anyways and then you won't even think twice about any of us losers stuck here. Got another couple years before I can even think about going for parole but it don't matter, it'll be too late by then anyways."

"Just 'cause I finally got a new date for getting my parole decision, it don't change nothing."

"Yeah right, you'll still be my buddy, Tim? Come up here and visit me? Course not, you'll go get on with your life and not look back, not give this fucking place a second thought. That's what you'll do if you're smart, anyways."

I want to protest, even though he don't want to hear it and I know that what he's saying is true, 'cause if I do ever manage to get out of here, there's no way in hell I'm ever coming back.

"You know what day it is today, Tim?"

Confused, I shake my head, before he continues.

"Today my baby girl turns one years old and I ain't ever even seen her, apart from in a photograph, probably never will now Marie's finally leaving town with her. She'll grow up calling some other asshole daddy, and won't even know who I am, that's if they even bother to tell her I exist."

"Jesus, Walt, you think doing this is gonna help?"

"Don't much care, least it don't hurt so bad when I think about it." And with that he turns away and carries on with what he's doing, spends the rest the morning incoherent and half asleep. But like I said the guards don't give a shit so long as he ain't making no more work for them.

xxxxxx

_Day Four Hundred and Ninety-Four._

This has gotten to be a regular occurrence now. Fuck knows how much Walt's taking these days and today he's still a mess by the time we've got to leave for meal break so I end up half dragging him out the place. He's in no state to eat, says he's not hungry anyway, so I dump him down at a table at the back of the room a row back from Ray and Bobby, while I go line up with my tray.

I'm nearly at the front the line when I notice there's something going on. Ducking out with half a dinner it only takes me a few seconds to get there. Walt's on his feet, a couple of Brannigan's boys are in front of him, so it seems it's all come to a head at last. Dropping the tray on the table I stay on my feet, watching and listening for now, ready to step up if he needs me. He might be a mess but he's still my friend, has watched my back and helped me out in more fights than I can remember, so I owe it to him to stick around.

"Come on guys, can't you sort me out with some more gear, you know I'll be good for it."

"You got debts to pay first, Jeffries, and Mitch is tired of waiting, needs some sort of payment today."

"Jesus, I'll get it for you by the end the week, don't cut me off."

"So you got nothing for him today?"

He shakes his head, probably well aware what's coming, but he really truly looks like he don't care no more.

"Well then guess we'll have to take it some other way, kid."

Walt just shrugs at them. "Do what you got to do."

Then one of them steps forward and starts pounding on Walt but he does nothing, makes no attempt to fight back, and it's then I see the glimmer of the homemade blade, long and thin, not a regular knife but plenty good enough to do some damage. And despite Ray's muttered warning for me to keep out of it, I shake his hand off my shoulder and weigh in, trying to stop the guy, and Bobby ain't far behind me. But it's too late. Walt's leant against the wall, the blood already soaking into his shirt as he watches the man who had been hitting him just few seconds ago pull back the blade and stab at him again and again.

Not really knowing what I'm doing, I lunge for the one that's doing it. All I know is I want to hurt him, make him pay somehow for what he's done to Walt. Bobby's in the mix too swinging at the guy as we struggle and I try to knock the blade from his hands. There's not a lot of space between the wall and the table, and I'm so intent on getting even with him for doing that to Walt that I'm not really sure how it all happened. Only the next thing I know the other guy's down on the floor next to Walt, but the blade ain't on the floor it's in him. There's blood on my hands and everyone around is slowly edging away, aside from Bobby, and Ray.

Ray's talking at me but it ain't making any sense, he sounds like he's miles away.

"Jesus, Shep, you need to get the hell out of here. You can't afford to get caught up in this."

It feels like I'm watching a movie or something, that it ain't really me there. But it is me, 'cause I feel Bobby nudging my arm, making me drag my gaze away from the makeshift knife and the figures slumped against the wall. Walt's eyes are shut and he's clutching his chest, barely breathing and when he does it's raspy and filled with pain, but the other guy - well he don't seem to be moving at all.

I freeze again, wiping my hands on my shirt while wondering how there can be so much blood everywhere, before Bobby pulls me forcibly back into the receding crowd. Just in time too as the guards finally realise something's not quite right and quit chatting, then start to cross the room, yelling for everyone to keep still.

Then it hits me what's actually happened to Walt; what I've done to the other guy.

Maybe I'm not so different from everyone else in here after all.


	7. Over and Out

**OVER AND OUT**

_Day Four Hundred and Ninety-Four...continued._

I'm a complete fucking idiot.

Giving a damn about anyone else gets you nowhere. Except further in the shit. Should have learnt that lesson the last time.

Should have damn well known better than to get involved. Maybe it's me who's the dumb one in our family after all.

My hands are shaking, I can feel the panic rising in me as the guards start looking at the crowd. Hell, it must be obvious that it was me. For all the shit I've ever been caught up in, I ain't never seen a guy die before, let alone killed anyone. Yet here I am covered in blood and shaking like a little girl, wouldn't surprise me if I start bawling in a minute.

I almost wish the guards would just get on with it, 'cause while I'm standing here waiting for them to figure out what's happened I just can't stop staring at Walt and wondering why he had to be such a damn fool as well, and I know everything's screwed up for sure.

Nothing's been changed by me getting involved, Walt's still on the floor, that guy's there next to him, he's still... dead, the only thing different is that I ain't going nowhere any time soon. Except back to solitary. Won't get that parole, won't even be getting out of here in three years no more. Probably going to be stuck here for more years than I care to think about.

More and more guards are streaming in, and although it feels like hours, it's probably only a matter of seconds 'til they spot me in the crowd, drag me out, cuff me. Then the next second they also grab Bobby too, take the both of us away to be dealt with.

xxxxxx

We've been in this room for maybe an hour, been knocked around a bit by the guards, only now their chief is here with the warden, going to speak to us himself apparently. I'm sitting here, saying nothing, trying to hold it together. At least when they put me in solitary there won't be no one there to see me be such a fucking mess. In the meantime, I'll do like Bobby told me when we were in the corridor being dragged here - keep my mouth shut and follow his lead.

The chief guard is standing right in front of me, glaring, as the warden starts his speech. "You know what, you sure as hell have caused me more grief than needed on a Monday afternoon. Two bodies isn't exactly a good start to the week, even for this damn place. You like it here a little too much Shepard? I hear you two been involved in shit together before. What is it this time, don't want your parole, and don't want to leave your buddy in here all alone?"

I don't know what I'm supposed to say, just want to tell the the smug fucker exactly what I think about him, but even I got just about enough sense left to know that won't help me none. So I don't say anything, just sit back in my chair, stare at the floor.

"Wasn't him. Was me."

Stunned, my head snaps round to stare at Bobby.

"Really? Because the guards seem to think it was him, say you were just brawling."

Bobby laughs and right now he's a world away from the nervous looking guy I met on my first day here.

"Hell, I'm the one with form aren't I? He's just some dumb Tulsa street punk who ain't got the first clue what's going on in this place, wouldn't have a clue how to kill a guy."

"Yeah? So why don't you tell me how it did happen then, smart guy?"

Bobby's got near enough as much blood on him as I have, from the fight and from checking Walt over. And he does a real good line in selling them a story, just carries on talking every time I try to say something to set him straight. So by the third time he's repeated it, it seems they're actually believing it. Hell, he'd convince me if I didn't know it was all lies.

We don't look that much alike close up, but I guess he's a similar height, got dark hair, and from across the room in the middle of a scuffle it'd be harder to tell the difference. Not that I think the guards really give a damn anyways, so long as there's someone to pin it on. And no one else who was there is going to confirm any details. Even if they know what happened they'll settle things their own way, not through the system.

So finally we're on our feet 'cause it's been decided Bobby's heading to solitary, being as they can't exactly extend his sentence no more anyways, while I'm being taken back to the cell block. The guards are busy shaking hands with the warden, occupied with their own conversation and I take the chance to quickly ask him a question.

"What the hell, Bobby, why you doing this?"

"Guess I don't owe you no more, Shepard."

"But—"

"Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"Listen, Tim, I got no chance of ever getting out this place so I figure you might as well, ain't no sense in you getting stuck here too. Just don't fuck up again alright? Besides," he adds, cracking a grin at me, "could do with a few weeks peace."

xxxxxx

_Day Five Hundred and Ten._

I guess even Brannigan must believe it was Bobby that was responsible 'cause more than a week has passed and I've only had a couple of minor beatings, still got the use of both of my legs. I've been trying to keep my head down, keep a low profile, but realistically if they want to get me I know it'll happen sooner or later no matter what I do.

Lately I've been spending most my time back at the cell, on my own, and I'm here on my bunk when the guards turn up. For a few seconds I think it's all up, that they're here for me. Except then I see the guy behind them, dragging a thin mattress in his hands.

"All right, this is it. You get the bench."

It was only a matter of time before we got a third, 'cause apparently there's way more criminals than beds, and they've been working their way along this block tripling up the cells all month, and today it's finally our turn. From the corner of my eye I can see the guy is looking me over, but I honestly cannot be bothered to do anything, not even acknowledge him, just close my eyes again and I'm relieved when pretty soon Ray appears to take control.

New guy is called Tommy, but I honestly couldn't tell you anything else, don't listen to a word him and Ray say to each other. He seems decent enough, but I ain't doing it again, I'm not intending to get caught up giving a damn about anyone else in here. Walt's gone for good, Bobby's down in solitary. So the less I know the better. I don't know anything about the guy I killed either, but sometimes in the night I wonder whether he was an alright bloke. If maybe he's got a girl back home crying and hating me for what I've done, a family that's missing him. And then I wonder how many people back home would miss me if things had gone the other way.

xxxxxx

_Day Five Hundred and Twenty-Four_

Today Bobby is getting out of Solitary. I've just got back to the cells, finished my shift, only there ain't no sign of him and straight away from the look on Ray's face I know that something's not right.

"Afternoon."

But he don't speak.

"Ray? What's going on?" He's pale, unsteady, ain't ever known him be this quiet in all the months I been here.

"Bobby."

"What about him? Where is he?"

"Infirmary."

My stomach lurches. "Why? What happened?"

"Didn't even make it back down here after getting out of solitary. Brannigan was waiting for him. They beat him up so bad you can't hardly tell it's him apparently."

"He's gonna be okay though?" He has to be, there can't be another death on my conscience.

Ray just shrugs. "Don't know, depends if he wakes up again. I damn well told you not to get involved in that fight. There wasn't nothing you could do for Walt, and now look, you've just dragged everyone else into it too."

Then he lays into me, punching me. And I just let him. Because he's right. This is on me.

Walt might have brought it on himself, for trying to escape his problems by hiding behind the drugs. The other guy, well he deserved everything he got for what he done to Walt. But not Bobby. He's beaten half to death just because he done something to help me out.

And I've got to live with that fact. Can't change that it's done, only thing I can do is make sure it didn't end up like this for nothing.

xxxxxx

_Day Five Hundred and Sixty._

It's really happening, I'm nearly there. The streets are finally recognisable, the distant skyline of the city has given way to the familiar buildings of downtown, and a couple of minutes later I'm at the bus station, stepping out into the evening sunshine. Looking around I spot a bar across the street and wonder if I've got enough cash on me to go get blinding drunk, find myself a girl and not think about McAlester for a while, not think about the guys who won't ever get to go home.

Heading towards the open door I can already hear the noise of the jukebox and the early evening drinking crowd, and I'm feeling good when some girl starts to head my way, smiling. She ain't exactly my type, but then again I'm not gonna say no. Not tonight.

It ain't long before I'm sat at the bar, a beer in one hand and my other arm round that same broad, pretending like I'm interested in what she's saying to me, that there ain't only one thing that I want from her. Reckon the same thing is on her mind too though, the way she's leaning up against me with her hand on my thigh and I'm looking over my shoulder, wondering if there's someplace out back we can go. Must be real obvious how desperate I am 'cause she whispers to me then takes my hand, leads me towards the back part of the bar and into some tiny storage room. We ain't in there all that long, but it was good enough, for her too apparently, as she's telling me about some party we could head to later, offering me a repeat performance.

Seems I'm well on the way to what most the guys would take as the perfect first night of freedom. Only then it hits me that I don't actually want all that—not tonight, anyways.

There'll be plenty of days for drinking and screwing around, for living up to my reputation. Instead I find myself wanting to just go home. Letting other people in don't seem to bring you nothing but trouble, but even after all that's happened I still find myself wanting to be around someone I actually give a damn about right now.

Before the broad can protest, I'm on my feet heading across to the payphone. Dialling the familiar number, I take a deep breath and pray it ain't Harry who answers 'cause it's a hell of a long walk home from here.

"Hello?" Guess it really must be my lucky day.

"Hey, kid."

"Tim? What's the matter, you ok?" my brother asks, confused. "Where the hell are you, why's there music?"

"I'm okay. You still got my car, Curly, or you managed to trash it?"

"I ain't done nothing to it. Why, who's been telling you shit? Was it Angela? In them letters she sends you? Lying little—"

"Curly, just shut it. I need you to drive downtown. Right now."

"What? Why? I don't understand."

"I'm home, kid, I need you to come pick me up, quick as you can. There's some dive bar, across from the bus station. You know the place I mean?"

"Yeah, but how come—"

"Ain't answering your questions now. Just hurry the fuck up, I'll be waiting outside."

Hanging up, I walk out the bar without a second look at the girl, pace about impatiently then lean against the wall, all the while wishing I'd bought some smokes. Finally I let myself smile when I see my wreck of a car turn the corner onto the street, then grin even more as I realise Angela's hopping out the car, and she's running over and hugging me like she used to when she was little, before she decided she was too cool to barely even speak to me in public, let alone hug me. Curly's stood behind her now, grinning and cursing at me for not telling him I was getting out. And even though I'm pretty sure that within days—if not hours—they'll both be driving me mad, it feels pretty damn good to see the pair of them again, to know someone's glad I'm home.

Reckon I got enough reasons right here to keep my promises, to make the most of being out…to never go back.

* * *

A/N: Huge thanks for reading to the end - it would be great to hear any thoughts you have on how it's turned out, even if this has been posted a while, so I'd be really grateful if you could take a moment to leave a review? Oh, and if you liked this and would like to read any more about what happens next for Tim, then 'Back to the Start' takes a look at his life now he's out of McAlester.


End file.
